The Single Life. Liz Wood
in the publishing world.
Western had asked Lauren to run a creative writing workshop several years ago, when she had won the Behn Foundation Award, but she had been eager to start her second book then and had turned down the offer. A year later, Western had renewed it. She had been on the verge of accepting when Charles had announced that he wanted a divorce. Lauren’s friends had encouraged her not to abandon her plans, but she simply forgot to respond until it was too late. Now, she sincerely hoped Western wouldn’t hold it against her. A few hours teaching the craft of writing might be the ideal way to hold on to her house.
The next day, sobered by her friends’ parting remarks, encouraged by her daughter and armed with budding newfound courage, Lauren called Diane Cart, the head of the writing department, who promptly invited Lauren to a trendy coffee shop near the campus to talk.
Lauren took her time getting ready. She considered this meeting an interview. She carefully sorted through her clothes, seeing, for the first time, some advantage to the extra closet and rack space Charles had left behind. She tried on three trouser suits before finding one that didn’t hang on her hips like a sack. But it still needed a belt and was much less flattering than it had once been. She had lost far too much weight recently, but, with the state of her life, she hadn’t given a thought to her wardrobe.
Not that Lauren had ever been a woman who turned heads. Although she was tall and toned from exercise, she lacked the hourglass proportions of the ideal female figure. Her breasts were far too small, her behind too big and her waist almost nonexistent. Nonetheless, she had always liked to wear good quality clothes, and she had enjoyed scouring expensive boutiques and department stores in search of them. She hadn’t done that since the divorce, but maybe things would change with the interview.
Examining herself in the full-length mirror, Lauren tried not to dwell on the ravages of the past few months. At least, she looked like a professional woman ready for an interview. That was what mattered.
Her gray roots were showing, but that couldn’t be helped now. She styled her hair as well as she could and promised herself an appointment at the hairdresser, if she got the job. Then she went to work on her face, hoping to put more sparkle in her blue eyes and more color in her cheeks. She may not have used her makeup kit for a while, but she still knew a few tricks. The woman she saw when she gave herself a final, parting glance in the mirror was not who she used to be, but she wasn’t this year’s lifeless shadow either.
Diane wasn’t at the café when Lauren arrived. She glanced around the room, taking in all the poised, youthful diners, in their twenties and thirties, wearing expensive designer clothes, drinking coffee, reading newspapers or engrossed in flirtatious conversations.
It was like walking onto the set of a fashion shoot. Despite her efforts with her appearance, Lauren felt self-conscious and out of place.
She felt even more drab and dull when Diane Cart swept into the room, looking as if she had stepped off the pages of Vogue. Lauren watched Diane cross the room—a self-aware, well-kept, confident woman—and wished she had never made this appointment. She should have waited until she looked less of a wreck. How was she ever going to assert herself to someone like this?
“I’m so sorry I’m late, darling. You can’t imagine how busy I am, with the new term beginning and all the meetings I have to attend.” Diane leaned over to air-kiss Lauren, enveloping her in perfume. She placed an expensive leather bag on the table, the brand name visible. “The dean has asked me to head another committee. It really is a nuisance. But there you are. I have to do what I have to do. It’s so difficult to delegate. I’m sure you understand.”
Without bothering to really look at Lauren, Diane waved the waitress over and ordered an espresso.
“One shot. And please make sure it really is only one shot.” Turning to Lauren, she said, “Sometimes they add too much water, you know. It tastes like drip coffee. Not at all what I want.”
Lauren gave the waitress an apologetic smile, ordered bottled water for herself, then returned her attention to Diane, who was talking again about the accumulated responsibilities of her life.
“…and that’s why I wanted to see you. I was sure you would want to contribute to the fund-raiser. I thought you could do a reading. Maybe present some of your more recent material. That would be wonderful. I’m sure everyone would love it.”
Lauren had been practically hypnotized by the brightness of Diane’s scarlet nails, so she wasn’t sure she had heard right.
“I’m sorry. Did you invite me here today to discuss a fund-raiser? For Western University?”
Diane’s hand froze in midair. With a smile as stylized as her dress, she looked at Lauren. “Yes. I was sure you would want to help.”
Lauren laughed without humor. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding. Actually, Diane, I called because I’m looking for a job. I was wondering if that workshop you offered me a while ago—two years ago—was, well, a possibility.”
Diane frowned. “You’re looking for a job?”
Lauren nodded.
“I’m sorry, Lauren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I had heard that…but I didn’t realize…” Diane waved her red-tipped fingers in the air to fill in the spaces she left blank.
Lauren doubted that the woman’s sympathetic look was genuine.
“Yes, Diane, I’m looking for a job. With the divorce and everything, I’m a bit short on cash.”
“I understand.” Diane wrapped a cold hand around Lauren’s wrist. Lauren resisted the urge to push it away. She waited to see how understanding the other woman really was.
After a moment, Diane withdrew her hand, leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. “I realize that it must be really terrible, what you’re going through. My husband is such a wonderful man, I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose him. But surely you must know that our workshops are planned at least a year in advance. Anyway, after the last offer, I thought you weren’t interested.”
“I was interested. It was just, well… It was just a bad time for me.” Lauren smiled as sweetly as she could. If she concentrated hard enough, she could hold back her tears. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want Diane to know how much she cared. “I guess now is a bad time for you.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“And I don’t suppose there would be a teaching position open for the next semester?”
“There might be something, but surely you understand I can’t offer you anything, Lauren. It’s been several years since you’ve published, and our students want to be instructed by cutting-edge writers, those who can help them get into print. I don’t know if you have that kind of clout anymore.”
It took all Lauren’s concentration to keep her eyes fixed on Diane’s face. Everything inside her was screaming at her to walk away before hearing another humiliating word. But she couldn’t leave, not just yet, not without exploring one more possibility.
“I was thinking more on the lines of basic writing skills, composition classes, written expression, that sort of thing.”
“When was the last time you taught such a class? Ten years ago?”
Lauren hesitated. She could bend the truth a little, but what was the point? She shook her head. “Longer.”
“More than ten years! Lauren, you don’t really expect us to hire someone without recent experience? Besides you’re overqualified. We rely on our graduate students for those courses, sometimes even the advanced undergrads. They do just fine, especially since they’re more in touch with the needs of their peers.”
“So there really isn’t anything?”
“Not at the moment. But if anything should come up, you’ll be the first in mind.”
Which was obviously Diane-speak for “Don’t